A Very Dead Person
by Thornapple
Summary: Every person has a past. To erase it, records must be wiped and people silenced. To properly and effectively silence someone, said person must be killed. And quickly. Although that doesn't mean the killer can't have some fun along the way...
1. Chapter 1

It all ended with… a dead body.

A nasty, pale, and not-so-decomposed corpse.

Corpses were fairly common in Gotham City, considering it had a dangerously high crime record, but this corpse was special, as the Police Commissioner was sensible enough to acknowledge.

All corpses have a story behind them. A story of the dead person's life, the events which led up to the person's death and the way death was brought on to the unfortunate soul. Most stories are fairly upsetting, and should never, ever be discussed over the dinner table.

This person, just like a few others, had an unhappy ending, which was why the person expired so early in life. As is predicted, this person was female, for females occasionally die earlier than is expected, due to their instability, as well as the mongoose instinct for finding out things, which is not as prominent in males. Then they find out too much and get silenced.

Bluntly put, females are nosier than males.

The deceased was most unfortunate to know too much, and for that, her life was put to an end quite early. It was, arguably, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, which led to her knowledge of such things.

Then again, as mentioned before, females are fairly unstable at times.

* * *

><p>He stiffened and then quickly relaxed as an insane grin lit up his face. His mutilated, disfigured visage was unsettling, but with the twisted expression, it was simply terrifying.<p>

So, she was here. Was it really her? Probably. He would have recognised said person anywhere, but it had been such a long, long time, and he just wanted to make sure.

He wondered if she still recognized him, after all these years. Maybe she had forgotten who he was, he thought.

But if she didn't remember him, he would help jog her memory. And as he found, he could be _very_ persuasive.

A gap appeared in the crowd, and her head swiveled in his direction, perhaps drawn by coincidence, luck, or just cruel Fate. Their eyes met, and hers widened in utter shock. Recognition together with fear, apprehension, and sheer terror flashed across her face, and it visibly whitened under the bright afternoon sun.

She froze, stopping dead in her tracks in the middle of the crowded street. Another young woman stopped too and looked around in a puzzled manner, ignorant to the source of her friend's discomfort.

Her eyes were locked onto his, forging a bond of long-forgotten memories, pain, suffering, and hate. No one else seemed to notice the lone man, wearing a long trench coat with a cap tipped low over his face, leaving only two malevolent eyes peering underneath it.

No one paid any attention to the frozen woman, who was decidedly normal.

And no one noticed the silent staring match going on.

He felt her fear, and savoured it. Ah… it had been so long since he had last seen that expression on her face. The terror was coming out of her in waves, giving him a sadistic satisfaction which little else could create.

Since she looked far from happy at seeing him, he decided to—lighten her mood. He lifted his head higher and let a wide smile curl his lips, emphasizing the bumpy scars on either side of his mouth.

That seemed to jar her. She looked away at her concerned friend, embarrassment apparent on her face. She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak. Through the chatter, the noise, the growling of car engines, he heard her voice.

"It was nothing," she said, her voice entirely normal, "Nothing at all. I thought I saw… never mind. I must be hallucinating. Side effects of medicine and whatnot, you know."

Hmm. Hallucination, was he? No, no, he was certain she knew the truth. For as the two women walked away, he saw her shoot a furtive glance over her shoulder, apprehension etched onto every line of her face.

This was going to be extraordinarily interesting.

* * *

><p>Lisa shivered, not from cold, but from shock and fear. As she sat in the bright, unthreatening café, she drowned out her friend's chatter as her mind reverted back to that fatal moment in which she had seen someone whom she never wanted to see ever again.<p>

It had been highly unfortunate. She had been feeling uneasy, with a tingling at the back of her neck, and she had just looked around to check no one was eyeing her purse.

Then their eyes had met.

It was _him_. There was absolutely no doubt about it, those scars were memorable.

And owing to the human trait of never noticing their surroundings, other people had completely failed to notice the odd figure with the scars on his face.

But she had noticed him. And she sincerely regretted ever looking around. His malevolent eyes had burned right through her, reminding her of things she never wanted to remember, making her see things she didn't want to see.

This generally made her very uncomfortable.

She had noticed his twisted enjoyment of her fear and surprise too. The smile on his face was one of feral glee making the bumps beside his lips painfully obvious, and she, like an idiot deer caught in blinding headlights, had just stopped and stared.

In those few moments, she had seen how much he had changed; the outward appearance was still the same, but there were obvious differences. There hadn't been such deep laugh lines etched onto his face, but maybe that had to do with age. The eyes were still the same colour, black, but there was a mad glint in them that hadn't been there before.

The most significant though, was his posture. If her memory served her true, he never stood hunched in such a noticeable manner. He had definitely changed. The mocking, crazy boy from those times was gone and in his place, stood a different, possibly even loonier nutcase.

Ridiculous, she didn't even know him well. And she was surprised he even recognized her anyway…

It had been, after all, so many years since The Incident…

-:-

_Her grandmother had been in the hospital again, adding to the steadily growing list of worries her family had to deal with. The hospital bills were ballooning, making them all panic, for to pay them all back would be next to impossible._

_It was not unusual for one who lived in the Narrows to face financial problems. She wished her grandmother would not fall ill so often, not so much because of the ridiculous hospital bill, but rather… it was her grandmother. Grandmothers weren't supposed to suffer so much._

_She kissed her frail, sleeping grandmother before leaving, closing the room door gently as she left. Despite her attempts to leave quietly, the door had an annoying habit of slamming rather loudly. It slammed against the door frame, making a resounding crash and making her start._

_Staring apprehensively at the door, she hurriedly walked away._

_It was fortunate that her home was within walking distance of the hospital, and she trudged home, feeling incredibly depressed. Her knife was with her just in case, because after all it was night-time, and it wouldn't hurt to take precautions._

_When she got home her mother was there, slumped on a chair with a crumpled look on her face._

"_Evening, Mother." she said quietly._

_Her mother lifted her head and attempted a smile which came out looking like a grimace. "Good evening."_

"_What's wrong now?" she asked._

"_No, nothing's ha- I mean, just nothing."_

_She surveyed her mother appraisingly, taking in the sunken eyes, the slightly dishevelled hair, and the posture which signified weariness… sorrow… perhaps defeat._

"_Are you having trouble with the hospital bills, mom?" she asked gently._

_Her mother looked, if possible, even more defeated. She took that as an affirmative._

"_You know," she said, "I could always drop the part time job and work full time-"_

_She was interrupted by a fierce outburst from her mother. "No!" the older woman snapped. "You're already working underage. I won't allow it, no. It would disrupt your studies."_

"_But-"_

"_No buts. You're doing no such thing."_

"_All right then," she said, her lips thinning. "No full time job."_

_She went to her bedroom and dumped her bag on the ground. "No full time job," she repeated softly, looking mutinous._

_An hour later, her mother went out to work the night shift._

_She frowned as she heard her mother close the front door. It was an especially difficult time, and she was absolutely certain that her mother had no idea how to pay the hospital bills. But then again, neither did she._

_She saw a pile of clothes in the corner and went over to check if they were clean. Deciding that they had been washed, she began to fold them, all the time waiting for the routine shouting to start._

_It didn't take long._

"_You filthy bitch! Look at you… useless… cowering in the corner." A gruff male voice bellowed._

_She winced. The walls were thin. In a week, there were at least three nights in which her next door neighbour decided to go off drinking. He was, from her observations, a horrible person. A downright unpleasant man to live next to, she couldn't even imagine what it would be like to be married to him. She always felt a pang of sympathy for his wife and son, but wasn't about to go banging on his door demanding that he shut up and leave them alone._

_He was, after all, a very big man._

"_And that useless boy. Look at him, quaking in the corner. Aren't you a coward, boy?" the gruff voice continued._

_Sometimes, that man would beat up his wife. Occasionally, he would unleash his fury on his son too, but he hit his son less for reasons unknown. Maybe he liked his son more than his wife._

_She suspected that it was because his son was more adept at running away._

_On several occasions, the wife would scream for him to stop. Sometimes, she would scream _at_ him calling him a lousy bastard but most of the time it was a combination of both._

_Today, it was only calling him a lousy bastard._

"_You're a drunk!" a female voice shrieked. "A lazy, good for nothing bastard! All you know to do is spend our money on useless drinks!"_

_Cue the breaking glass._

_That happened on most occasions, but today, there was no sound of breaking glass. Instead, the female voice continued screaming:_

"_Look at you, a lazy, useless bum! You're wasted. Always wasted! I don't know how I put up with a pig like you and can't you at least be nice to our son?"_

_The listener winced - perhaps the woman should run, and not provoke a guy twice her size. Willing the woman to shut up, she continued to fold the clothes, still listening in spite of herself._

_The wife was still shrieking. "I'm warning you, you crazy son of a bitch," she shouted, "I'm armed! I won't have you coming near me. I won't let you hit me or my son!"_

_To which the husband slurred contemptuously, "Your son? That wimpy little boy? That's rich. The last time I looked, he belonged to both of us, no matter how soppy he is!"_

_Then the voices stopped. The sound of crashing could be heard. Then… silence._

_The listener felt a bit worried. She hoped the wife was all right and hoped that the husband had shut himself in his room or something._

_Then the husband was shouting. "You dare raise a knife against you own husband?" There was some hysterical laughter. "You dare? You dare?"_

_More hysterical laughter._

"_You know, my dear wife," he said more softly now, still slurring; the listener had to strain her ears to catch the words, "I've always thought that you frown way too much. That expression you gave me when you were holding that stupid knife—it was too serious for words!"_

_The listener shuddered, she had half a mind to yell for him to stop, but she didn't want to get in the way of a flying knife._

"_Let me show you how I never frown. Let _me_ put a smile on that face! Then you'll know the joy of being happy!"_

_There was a real scream this time, a scream of pure, unadulterated terror. A scream that was, oddly enough for this family, chilling._

_Then an awful silence descended._

_The listener had frozen now because this was different from most days. What had happened?_

_She didn't have time to think, because the man had started speaking again. "As for you, boy!" he had adopted a most disgusting sing song voice. "Put down those ridiculous cards of yours!"_

_There was a pause._

"_I said, put 'em down!"_

_Another pause._

"_Now that's better," the man shouted. "But don't look so shocked, son. It'll be all right. Don't be so serious…" the last few words had slurred especially badly, and the listener had to really strain her ears to catch them._

"_WHY SO SERIOUS, BOY?" This time, the man had thundered the words perfectly clearly. The listener jumped. A bout of hysterical cackling ensued. "WHAT'S WITH THAT FROWN? COME ON, GIVE DADDY A NICE BIG SMILE."_

"_Let's put a SMILE on that face."_

_The man was still shouting, but there was a menacing edge to his voice now._

"_A smile… a smile… YES, a nice big smile…"_

_The listener couldn't bear to eavesdrop it any longer. She dumped the clothes, which were halfway done, and scrambled as far away from that wall as possible. As she huddled in a corner, she felt extremely sorry for the wife and son (even though the son was an unusual boy). There was nothing she could do, since she couldn't prove anything._

_There was no point in calling the police; they'd take an age and a half to arrive and even if they did, they wouldn't take it seriously._

_It was after all, she thought bitterly, the Narrows. Home to the city's poor and scum. No cop would want anything to do with it, unless it was to get more money from the Mob._

_-:-_

"Hello? Are you listening to me?" a very annoyed Amanda snapped her fingers under her nose.

Lisa shook her head being brought out of her thoughts by her friend. She hadn't been listening to a single word that her friend, Amanda, was saying. Instead, she had been caught up in an old memory of hers, a memory which she had tried desperately to forget.

She would never succeed; the encounter this afternoon had proven that.

* * *

><p>"Oh, sorry…" Lisa muttered. "Just tired, anyway, what were you saying?"<p>

"Keith's taking me to Australia at the end of this month." Amanda said impatiently. "Are you going anywhere?"

"Me? Oh no," Lisa chuckled. "I'm too lazy to go anywhere."

"That I can tell," Amanda said grumpily, "What's gotten into you? First, you stop in the middle of a street for no reason at all, and now you're spacing out in the middle of a supposedly entertaining conversation. Are you sick or something?"

"Not at all," Lisa said sharply, humour forgotten. "I'm as fit as a fiddle."

"Fiddles are never fit," Amanda retorted.

"Fair enough."

"Anyway," Amanda continued. "After this, where do you want to go? Shopping? Dinner?"

"Yeah, dinner would be great."

"Okay then, shopping it is."

As Amanda skimmed through racks of clothing and tables of accessories, Lisa followed her, agreeing absentmindedly with most of what Amanda said.

"How's this dress?"

"It's nice."

"This necklace looks awful on me!"

"Yeah it does."

"Ooh, why don't you try that top?"

"Um… Okay."

Lisa trudged off to the dressing room. All the stalls were taken but one. Feeling strangely annoyed, she went in and changed into the blouse, barely taking any notice of her surroundings. As she turned to check herself in the mirror, she froze. Her brown eyes widened in shock.

A thick red line, curved to resemble a semi-circle, rested right above her head on the mirror.

Gaping, she reached up to trace the red line with her fingers, only to discover that it wasn't drawn on the mirror. Turning abruptly, she saw the red line inked onto the door and flinched.

Was it…? No, no, it couldn't be.

Who in the world was dumb enough to vandalize a dressing room door?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I don't know how that went... but please review:) Feedback is appreciated. No romance. After all, it is pretty difficult to fall for a guy like the Joker. Could practically smell him off the screen. And it was a bad smell.**

**Thanks to my beta Dr . Pepper . 19:) you're awesome.**


	2. Chapter 2

Later in the evening, she decided to return home.

She opened the door to her apartment, feeling slightly nauseous for some odd reason. Tottering to her shabby couch, she collapsed on it and turned the television on. As the newscaster's voice droned on, she watched the screen blankly and let her thoughts wander around, before a mental image of _him_ sprung up. She blinked, not wanting to think of him, but somehow, she couldn't help but recall the first day she knew there to be something truly different and _wrong_ about him. It had taken place many years ago. In fact, a few days after his face had been mutilated, but she remembered it like how she would remember there was a small scar on her leg.

It wasn't what occupied her thoughts, but it was always there, and would always be there until her dying day.

-:-**  
><strong>

_He seemed so lonesome, sitting there all by himself. Freak though he was, she wasn't about to say it in front of him. He knew that well already; the looks coming from random passersby were confirmation enough._

_Her mother had taught her to be sympathetic, so sympathetic she would be. Besides, she wanted to reassure herself that he didn't hold anything against her for the completely innocent crime of overhearing his father's drunken rampage. The father had fled right after butchering Jack's face. Maybe she would be lucky; he would assume that she had only seen him in the hospital.  
><em>

_Gearing up her courage, she walked over to the bench where he was sitting, where he always sat._

"_Hello," she said awkwardly, but as nicely as she could._

_He didn't look up, deeming his pack of cards to be more interesting than her. "Hi," he said in an oddly lighthearted voice._

Eccentric.

_She cleared her throat and smiled painfully as she sat down beside him. "Cards are pretty fun. What games do you play?"_

_His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, but under all those newly stitched cuts, it was hard to tell. "I don't play games. I just like the cards."_

"_I see…" she was at a loss for words. "And-"_

_The rest of her words were cut off by a sudden, enthusiastic burst of speech. "I like these pretty little cards…" he gurgled, "But I love… this one." he picked out a card from the pack and held it up._

_She squinted against the glaring sunlight and made out the coloured picture on the card. "The Joker card?" she said, bemused._

Oddity.

"_Yes…" he made a hacking sound which she supposed was a substitution for laughter. "I've just realized something."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_There are only two miserable Joker cards on this deck." he took out another one and shoved it in her face. "Which makes it very… special."_

"_It? You mean, them? There are two cards, so it should be them, not it. Rules of English, I guess."_

_Again, the hacking sound. "Ah, but see, I follow different rules than yours." he chuckled. "I make up my own."_

Weirdo.

_She squirmed inwardly; this boy was strange, to say the least. "That's nice."_

"_Oh, but it's not," he said, with a straight face. He placed both the cards back into the pack and began to shuffle again, at top speed, so fast that the cards were a blur. "It's not nice. It's never nice. And it will never be nice. Geddit, missy? You get my drift? It's not nice."_

_She raised her eyebrows, but he barreled on._

"_It won't ever be nice because you know what? People aren't nice. They're all just a bunch of sheep. Nice covers an entire spectrum of sycophantic behaviour which is just… phony. It's only a social definition of 'acceptable' behaviour. These, uh, nice people are only, eh… nice cos it's the rule of society. Everyone tries to be nice because of that rule. What if, I wonder, the new rule was to eat grenade pins? What would people do? Eh?"_

_She stared at him warily. "But I only meant to say-"_

_He held up a finger. "No, no, missy. This is MY time to talk. You came to hear me talk, didn't you? So that's what you'll do."_

"_I could just leave," she said very quietly._

"_But you wouldn't, see," he said smugly, "Not when you're too, um, nice."_

Lunatic.

"_I didn't come here for a debate on flattery," she snapped, "I came to ask how you were."_

"_And why might that be?" he asked innocently, his eyes silently mocking her statement._

"_Don't you feel like you're alone?" she asked, "Everyone has a skin, yes, but it'll take an especially thick one to not be affected by all these people."_

"_What people?"_

"_Oh, you know," she waved her hand vaguely, "Passersby."_

"_I don't notice them," he said dismissively. "To them, I'm just a freak. And I'm bettin' that you think so too."_

"_Bet all you want. I'm more or less broke."_

_That seemed to jar him. "Which reminds me," he said slowly, "why were you in the hospital that day?"_

_She blanched. "Hospital? When?"_

_His eyes narrowed. "You know what I'm talking about."_

_She looked away. "I think I do," she said quietly, relieved that he didn't know about her eavesdropping.  
><em>

"_You know how I got these cuts, don't you?"_

"_I-I have an idea," she muttered, afraid to meet his eye.  
><em>

"_Look at me," he said._

_She refused._

"_Just look at me," he said, this time more forcefully._

_She obeyed, feeling as though she was being intrusive on something he probably wanted kept quiet._

_His eyes, she noticed, were black and cold. The upper half of his face seemed normal enough, but the nasty deep cuts on either side of his mouth were extremely distracting. She couldn't help but glance at those two jagged lacerations, and think that they were bound to scar…_

"_You know how I got these cuts." It was a statement._

_Forcing herself to look away from the stitched up wounds, she met his gaze and nodded._

_She was expecting him to demand that she keep quiet about it, that if she ever told anyone that his father had sliced up his face (and his mother's), he would come slicing up hers. She almost expected him to produce a knife out of nowhere, and slash her throat._

_But he didn't._

_Instead, he laughed._

_He didn't just laugh. He cackled, rolled on his side, gulped in air and choked on it, giggled, guffawed, and generally displayed a highly alarming level of gleeful hysteria._

"_Well, that's too bad-" he choked out, "Too bad- I can't- ask you how I got 'em, can I? The fun's ruined. It's gone, forever."_

"_Well, that's very upsetting, I'm sure, but-"_

"_No, no, you miss the point," he said, still giggling. "The point is, that's what a person like you would say. You idiots always find an excuse not to laugh. It's disturbing, really. But I'm different."_

_Her face paled slightly._

"_I know, that all these rules in the rulebook are useless. You've gotta live without rules, if you wanna make full use of your life. It's fun, you know. You should try it."_

"_I thought you said that you make up your own rules?"_

"_I did?" he frowned. "Maybe."_

Crazy bastard.

_She cocked her head to one side. "Well, this is all very entertaining and such," she said, "you seem fine to me. It's been ni- I mean, interesting talking to you, but I think I'd better go now."_

_His eyes glittered. "Why, scared talking to a _freak_ like me?" he said innocently._

_She looked at him coldly. "I firmly believe," she said mildly, "that I do not have the right to judge you in that manner. But if you continue talking that way, I may change my mind." her hands shook slightly._

_He cackled. "Always the fickle one eh? Well, it's too bad… been fun talking to you, missy."_

_She stood up and inclined her head. "See you around, Jack."_

_As she made to leave, she noticed a card on the ground beside him. Bending to pick it up, she noticed it was the red Joker card. "Is this yours?" she held it out to him._

_He grinned, making the stitches on either side of his face bleed. "I dunno, is it?" _

_Blood made a thin trail down both sides of his face. He made no effort to wipe it off, giggling when he saw her shudder. "Well then, missy," he cackled, "Off you go."_

_She forced a smile and walked off, repressing the urge to run away as fast as possible. When she was a safe distance away, she looked back and gave a start._

_He was still sitting there at the bench, quietly muttering to himself. His hands moved deftly, but he wasn't shuffling his cards this time. He had taken a card with black designs on it, the ace of spades she thought, and was steadily gouging a neat hole through the centre._

_He didn't notice her stare. Didn't notice her shudder. Didn't notice her walk off hurriedly. The task which he had occupied himself with was far too engrossing._

_So… the boy was as crazy as his father. Maybe crazy, she reasoned with herself, but not a murderer. Not a face cutter. But doubts remained. Then she suddenly remembered that she hadn't brought up the subject of his father at all. What would his reaction be, she wondered… her face hardened.  
><em>

_As she hurried off, a single thought crossed her mind. A word, repeated again and again, floated across her mind, making her a little frightened._

**Freak.**

-:-**  
><strong>

"And that's all for the news tonight," the newscaster finished.

She started. It was only 10 o'clock, but she needed to sleep; the strange exhaustion was too much to bear.

Walking slowly to her room, she plonked down onto her bed without even bothering to change and waited for her two way ticket to Dreamland.

* * *

><p><strong>Review reply to Jokerswild02: Thanks for the review:) haha, I suppose...<strong>

**A/N: Lisa is supposed to be a nosy kid. Hmm. I suppose the Joker was a psychopath when he was a kid, the insanity does seem kinda deep-rooted. Please review:)**

**Thanks to Dr . Pepper . 19 for looking through and editing this chapter.  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman Begins or The Dark Knight.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Tch."<p>

_**Man with painted face robs bank, kills accomplices**_. The headline glared out of the third page as well as a slightly blurry shot, clearly taken by a security camera, of a man with unruly hair and a face covered in paint. His mouth looked like it had been painted over in a smile.

But Lisa couldn't tell for sure, what with the lousy quality of the picture.

Anyway, such old fashioned bank heists were rare, even in Gotham City. No one was stupid enough to rob a bank, for the city's banks were well known for serving dubious clients. The robber was perhaps very brave, extremely stupid, or just nuts.

Deciding that the article, with its nice picture and all was not worth reading, she flipped the page and continued…

Everything was normal. There was the usual crime: A homicide, hospital break-in, suicide, robbery. Nothing very big.

* * *

><p>Later that day, she walked out and bought a doughnut. Sitting on a bench, she opened a book she had brought along and left the doughnut (in an unsealed packet) beside her.<p>

Despite her attempts to read, she couldn't concentrate. Instead, she kept rereading the same paragraphs again and again.

It was a nice day with very good weather, and the wind blew, messing up her hair and ruffling the book pages. She sighed and tried to smooth her hair out, so she wouldn't look like some Arkham Asylum patient. Raking her fingers through her hair with her left hand, her other hand stayed near the doughnut wrapper for too long and-

"Ouch."

Vaguely surprised, she looked down to see several red ants scurrying over the doughnut wrapper. Feeling a streak of annoyance, she spotted a couple of the little fire ants on her hand, biting and leaving reddish marks. She swept them away and swiped them off the wrapper.

Looking down at the little insects, she remembered an incident which occurred a long time ago, an incident which hadn't affected her that much, but which she still recalled fairly clearly.

_She was walking back from school in good spirits; nothing big had cropped up that day. Crossing an almost deserted road, she noticed someone crouched over the side of the pavement and muttering to himself_

_Curiosity got its sharp claws into her. Well, in her defense, she had had to walk past him to get to her destination, but she couldn't deny that she had slowed down oh-so-slightly to overhear what the boy was saying._

_It was Jack, before his scarring. She noticed that a light was flickering in front of him and realised, to her very great surprise, that it was fire._

_He was bent over the light and murmuring some words, which she barely caught as she stepped delicately past him, trying not to bump into him (the pavement was horribly narrow and the road extremely dirty)._

"_Come on then, you stupid little things… Come to your ends…"_

_The words didn't make much sense to her, but they sounded morbid. She continued walking, her expression neutral, but just _happened_ to glance back._

_Then she realised what he was burning._

_Ants._

_Her eyebrows went up, and she stopped abruptly. Ants? Why would he burn those creatures? Had they bitten him or something? How… funny._

_Noticing her gaze, the boy looked up, and his black eyes glittered strangely. He smiled in a nasty manner, making his face light up. She shuddered and turned around, walking off at a quickened pace, leaving him to continue with his twisted doings._

Now, as she thought about it, she realised that it was just downright stupid for someone to burn ants. Those insects were harmless, not to mention useless. There could be absolutely no... sane satisfaction derived from burning such things. _Crazy, twisted little boy,_ her lip curled slightly.

Looking inside the packet, she sighed at the unsalvageable doughnut. It was now swarmed by an army of those stupid creatures. Oh well, she wasn't hungry anyway. It was still a waste of a perfectly good doughnut though…

Giving up her book as a lost cause, she smiled ruefully as she threw away the poor doughnut and got ready to leave. Perhaps a walk around the area would clear her mind a bit. Good food wasn't supposed to be wasted... Lisa clamped her mouth shut when she realised it was hanging open.

As she stuffed the book into her bag, her hand nudged the gun which was technically licensed under her mother's name, but since her mother was now happily settled in New Zealand, it apparently belonged to her.

That poor woman, 'happy' was not what most people would have used to describe her a few years ago. She was destroyed after Lisa's grandmother passed away, her mind reeling from the shock and pain. It had taken her months to get over the loss.

Lisa had been upset over the old woman's death, but it was nothing compared to her mother's reaction. She could still remember the look on her mother's face, when her grandmother breathed her last.

But it had been years now, and her mother eventually accepted that the old woman was gone. All the same, it hadn't been pleasant to live under the same roof as her when she was still in her depressed funk.

If she wasn't wrong, the death of her grandmother had taken place a few days after Jack's father had carved up his face and murdered his mother. The father had fled after he had committed the crimes, recognising, even in his drunken state, the dire consequences in store for him if he remained.

He had left his badly bleeding son to call the ambulance/ totter to the hospital. She wasn't sure which it was.

Hmm… she could vaguely remember that after she left the dead woman's ward, her vision partially obscured by tears, she had stumbled over to one of the plastic seats nearby and collapsed onto it, her shoulders shaking slightly. Her dear mother was still inside, crying her eyes out, not ready to let go of _her_ own mother…

_She just sat there, shoulders trembling, not sobbing, not bawling, not even making any noise. Tears flowed freely, and her eyes, wide and bloodshot, were puffy. She would have thought, under normal circumstances, that it was a tad childish to display such emotion in public, but at the moment she couldn't care less. No one could fault her for missing her grandmother._

_And miss her she would. The old lady had died a horribly slow death, not a peaceful one, and now that she was gone, her presence would be sorely missed. Very sorely missed._

_The world would wither, the plants would go grey. The skies would be a swirling mass of purplish black, and the seas would churn. For how could the world be happy, when her grandmother had died? It made no sense, she thought._

_Then she felt a sudden, mad urge to laugh at her ridiculous thought. The world wouldn't end just because one person had died. It couldn't. It would continue spinning, revolving around the Sun, unknowing and uncaring that another insignificant being had passed into the dark void which was death…_

_When she died, it would be no different. One death, or even a thousand deaths wasn't that important, in proportion to the sheer size of the universe.  
><em>

_Scraping footsteps echoed in the silent corridor and she focused on the owner of the feet. Looking up out of sheer instinct, her eyes widened incredulously at the disturbing, almost comical sight before her._

_A poor soul, face wrapped in bandages, was treading unsteadily down the corridor. His face reminded Lisa of those documentaries in which they showcased mummified pharaohs, so thick with bandages it was._

_Thank goodness it only covered the lower half of his face; his forehead and nose were relatively untouched. Who was this boy? She looked closely through the layer of tears which covered her eyes and recognised him. Then she hurriedly looked down at the floor._

_She wouldn't have recognised who it was, if not for those glittering, black eyes. His hunch, barely noticeable before, was even more pronounced now. He gave no sign of noticing her reaction, choosing to trudge on slowly, making those scraping sounds with his heels…_

_Closing her eyes, she listened to his footsteps fade, then waited there calmly for her mother to emerge, crying, from the ward._

Lisa scoffed as she snapped her bag shut. Perhaps it would be prudent to arrange a meeting with Amanda to save herself from the grip of insanity brought on by boredom. She had taken a couple of days off work to relax for she hadn't taken a break in months, and it was a quiet time at the company, so she figured that she wouldn't be badly missed.

But the boredom of doing nothing was starting to drive her mad. It had only been one day since she had started her 'break', and already she could feel her fingers itching. Checking the time, she decided to call Amanda; it was probably her lunch break.

_Ring. Ring. Ring…_

"Hello?"

"Hey," Lisa said, "are you free tomorrow afternoon?"

"Tomorrow's Sunday, my dear girl." Amanda replied. "Of course I'm free."

"Well, that's a surprise," Lisa said sarcastically. "Do you want to go anywhere?"

"Hmm… hang on. I think… yes. No appointments at that time. But I don't want to go out."

"And why not?"

"I'm lazy. Tell you what," Amanda said, "why don't I drop by your place and we have a little chat? It's been ages since we actually had a proper conversation. I can't stay long though; Keith is picking me up at five."

"Yes, yes…" Lisa replied. "Thanks. So I'll see you tomorrow at…"

"Two? Is that all right with you?"

"Yeah sure. See you."

"Bye."

Lisa hung up, feeling considerably happier than she had all day.

* * *

><p>As she walked home, she passed by an old couple discussing an apparently fascinating topic rather loudly.<p>

"Yes, another young fool…"

"A flair for theatricality, this one has. Bank robberies don't normally appear on the third page."

"Shocking isn't it? The reporter mentioned something about his name."

"His name? Oh yes, something about a-a joker isn't it?"

"Uh-huh. The news was better though. Remember those interviews with the witnesses?"

"Of course, dear. They said something about a scarf didn't they?"

"No, no, it was scar."

"Are you sure it wasn't scarf?"

"Positive. Why would anyone wear a scarf when robbing a bank?"

"Of course, how silly of me…"

Their voices faded as she walked away as slowly as she could without looking like she was eavesdropping. But their voices were rather loud…

Her mind was going at a thousand miles an hour. Was it him…?

Was it who she thought it was? She hadn't paid attention to the news the night before, so she couldn't be sure.

Oh well, it wasn't pleasant to muse over such 'far away' things.

As she unlocked the door to her apartment, nothing was out of place. Nothing was wrong. She didn't notice anything unusual, but could feel a killer headache coming up.

Closing the door behind her, she went straight to the kitchen, where the painkillers were kept. Popping one and washing it down with some water, she choked a little; tablets were always a little tricky to swallow…

Proceeding to totter to and plonk down on the couch after finishing whatever she was doing, she grabbed the newspaper. Something small and square fell out of the messy pile on the shabby table, and she bent to pick it up.

A pack of cards. Curious, she didn't recall owning a pack with this pattern. Frowning slightly, she opened the box and emptied it of its contents.

Her jaw dropped.

The deck looked ordinary enough from the back, but when she turned it around and shuffled it around a bit, she realised that every single one was one type of card.

The joker card.

What… What was this? How did it get there? Someone must have been in the apartment; someone must have planted it there. Or was this just all a joke, and she was merely forming ridiculous conspiracy theories.

But who…?

Obviously she knew who, but the question was _how_.

Closing her mouth, she realised that she would definitely have to replace the lock on the front door.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to all reviewers :) I was just wondering though, because I haven't gone through the entire Batman Begins/Dark Knight archive, is the concept of my story similar to anyone else's? I hope not.**

**Review reply to Jokerswild02: Thank you so much for your review :)**

**And thanks to my beta Dr. Pepper. 19 for looking through this chapter beforehand.  
><strong>


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm sorry miss, but all available timeslots for tomorrow are taken. There's been plenty of broken locks around town," the bored girl at the other end of the line said.

"Please," Lisa croaked, her throat extremely dry. "There's none at all? There's been a break-in at my place; I really don't want it to happen again."

The lazy girl was unsympathetic.

"Then that's too bad for you. Face it, at least you're still alive, aren't you? The nearest available slot is on Tuesday afternoon, three o'clock. Is that all right with you?"

Of course it wasn't all right. Lisa was furious, but kept her voice level. "Yes, yes, three o'clock. And come on time, or there _will_ be a murder."

The girl chuckled nastily. "Yes miss. On time we will be."

Then she put down the phone.

Lisa glared at the receiver. That girl, in her opinion, was an annoying twat. How did people like her actually pass the job interview? Pshaw.

But down to business. She glanced at the couch before making her way to the bedroom desk and plonking down onto the chair with unnecessary force. Grabbing a pen and piece of paper, she started writing with utmost concentration, spelling out every detail, for it was of vital importance…

Half an hour passed as she wrote with her lips pursed, crossing out at times and tutting at others. The result was a sheet of paper covered with steady handwriting, and some blot-outs.

She read through it critically, occasionally pausing to correct a mistake. Finally, a small smile crossed the serious face, and she folded the sheet of paper, placing it in her drawer.

It would be sent eventually.

But in the meantime, she would need to keep the keys. She decided that the spare key under the mattress was safe enough, but the one outside had to be cleared away.

Striding hurriedly to the front door, she opened it and picked up the ugly garden gnome, an old present. She unscrewed the foot and emptied out the key, wincing as the dust went into her eyes and up her nose.

Then an unwelcome thought struck her; what use was it if there already had been a break-in? There was no point in keeping all the keys.

Too bad then, she'd just have to keep it as a safety precaution, to prevent any future break-ins. She'd just have to remember to always bring the keys whenever she went out.

She frowned, convinced that it was _him_; all the evidence pointed that way. Swallowing, she blinked hard and acid threatened to corrode her stomach walls. It couldn't be…

Then a disgusted look contorted her features. Tutting quietly, she quickly replaced the gnome, pocketed the key and grabbed the deck of cards. She rummaged around a drawer and found a pair of old scissors.

Some of the panic began to seep away; she relaxed slightly. She then emptied the box of cards and delicately picked out the first card. The clown in the picture had a plastic grin pasted on his face, seemingly mocking her.

She held up the card and snipped off a corner.

The cut up bit fluttered to the ground. Suddenly business-like, she neatly cut up the rest of the card, making sure to snip the stupid clown's small face to pieces. It wouldn't do to be frightened of a mere picture.

In a matter of minutes, a small pile of card remains lay on the floor. With a grim expression, she scooped them up and put them in a plastic bag. She then grabbed her bag and headed out, taking particular care in locking the door.

* * *

><p>Lisa deposited the cards in three different trash cans in three different neighbourhoods. Her face was pale, her lips pursed as she nondescriptly dropped the cut up pieces into each trash can. Having done her job, she headed home, her heart pounding.<p>

Once upon a happier time, she would have laughed at herself. It was ridiculous, being afraid of a few scraps of paper. And a waste of time it was too, depositing it into different trash cans. No one in their right mind would do it.

As she unlocked the door, a small smile was allowed to form on her face. At least all the incriminating evidence was gone, thrown somewhere far far away…

Then she walked in and stopped dead, her face turning green.

Her hands shook, her lip trembled.

She kicked the door shut and ran for it, one hand over her mouth. Almost didn't make it too, her face was barely over the toilet bowl when the vomit came spilling out, choking up her airways, making her splutter in disgust.

It kept right on coming, the regurgitated remains of the doughnut. Revolting, repellent, and repulsive were just some words which could be used to describe it. Lisa just felt terrible.

When she was done spewing out the gunk, she got up, rinsed her mouth in the sink, flushed the toilet bowl, and checked for any stray chunks of vomit, all with a highly annoyed expression.

She composed herself, breathing in deeply, before walking out hesitantly to the living room.

There it was. Like some diseased thing, the knife had streaks of brown creeping up on the blade, polluting it, disfiguring the otherwise shiny metal. The brown streaks looked to be made of some sort of crust. Beside it lay a dead rat and a scrap of paper.

She stared at the things for a moment, and then hurried off to the kitchen to find some clean tissues.

Disgusting.

* * *

><p>The crusted weapon was simply wrapped up in tissues and tossed into the bin, away from where she could see it. She then scrubbed the area where the objects had lain on the floor vigorously, ridding it of any <em>contamination<em>.

There was absolutely no doubt as to what the brown stains on the knife were.

She had no idea what to do with the rat. After staring at it for some time, she wrapped it up with tissues, taking care not to touch it, and thrown it into a dumpster two streets down. A long walk, but worth it to get rid of such filth.

The piece of paper turned out to be a note.

_U remember everything, I will be watching, don't forget or u will end up like the rat. Ratting to other people only leaves u gutted._

Lisa did _not_ want to be gutted.

She crumpled up the note and considered flushing it down the toilet, but decided against it. Perhaps it might be useful… and flushing it down was a waste of water.

Collapsing onto the couch, she looked absolutely terrified. Her lips were tightly pursed, her eyes wide and her feet cold. Cold feet were a sign of fear (maybe sickness) with some people.

She had no appetite for dinner. So she tried to sleep, but ended up tossing and turning.

Some 'break' it was.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Lisa went out for no reason other than to clear her mind and wander aimlessly. She considered dropping in on a friend's house, but just didn't feel like disturbing anyone on a Sunday morning.<p>

As she walked briskly on the pavement, her eyes drifted around.

_Vicious black eyes._

She stopped short. What?

There he was. Again. Smiling in a cheerful yet terrifying way, making her spine tingle.

_I will be watching_.

Then he vanished.

Lisa gasped in shock and stared around wildly, at people walking hurriedly to their destinations, at cars speeding past in a blur. But no one seemed to have noticed him there, other than herself.

Brief hallucination. She wasn't in her right mind at the moment, but it would pass. Anyway, better a hallucination than the real thing.

She blinked.

* * *

><p>As Lisa hurried home and hastily unlocked the door, her mind was not the fuzzy blur it had been for the past few days. It was sharp and clearer than it had been for a long time. Her thoughts were racing at a hundred miles per hour, and in her mind's eye, images were flashing very fast.<p>

She strode into the small apartment and locked the door behind her. Depositing her handbag onto the living room table, she went into the washroom and rinsed her face clean. Then she walked out.

And froze.

A hand held out her handbag, and the owner of the hand was none other than Jack, no, _the Joker_, in all his made up glory, a sickening smirk spread across his face. The scars were perfectly recognisable even under all that makeup.

Well then, apparently the little 'tokens' he had left her before this was nothing more than a preview for the grand finale.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks to all reviewers :) I didn't really like this chapter, it was a bit of a filler... The next chapter will be the last. I've been planning this story for a few months although it is extremely short. Oh well. Please review :)**

**And thanks to my beta Dr. Pepper. 19 for looking through and editing this chapter.  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

"How did you find me?" Lisa demanded, her face going white. She grabbed her dangling handbag, surprised to encounter no resistance from him.

"I have my resources," he replied sarcastically.

Swaying slightly on the spot, she clung on to a chair for support. Mustering all her courage, she managed to bite out, "Get the hell out of my apartment."

He chuckled. "Ooh, not so polite any more eh, missy? What's the matter, is it the scars?"

She didn't reply, only backed away in the direction of the front door, looking apprehensive. Her face was tightly controlled, but fear radiated off of her in waves. Her hands were clenched into fists, the knuckles white. Every movement she made was stiff and jerky.

He strode forward several steps and she backed away faster, stumbling slightly as she did so. Abandoning all restraint, she ran for the door, fumbling hastily with her handbag and trying to extract her keys, but before she could, he pounced.

Slamming her head against the door, he held her by the neck and pushed her up against it. He sneered. "I wonder what has knocked your, ah, manners out of you. After all these years, wouldn't you like to say hello to your old friend?"

"Get your filthy hands off my neck," she snarled, "And your breath stinks. What the hell have you been doing to your teeth all these years? They're repulsively yellow. Just the stench coming off you is enough to put anyone off their manners. I don't recall you being my friend either." Despite her barbed gibberish, her voice quavered slightly, betraying her terror.

His grip tightened, and she choked.

"It's such a pity," he said with a sickly smile, "I thought a warmer welcome was what you would give. But even the cleverest people can be, uh, horribly wrong."

A knife glinted in his hand and her eyes widened in fear.

"That's right, missy," he said, "Show me some manners. Say hello."

Her brown eyes flickered.

"Say it!"

"H-hello, Jack."

"No, without the name," he snapped, his smile disappearing.

"Hello."

"Now that's better," his smile was hitched back.

"I'd ask you whether you'd wanna know how I got these scars," he continued, still holding her neck in a vice like grip, "But you already know, don't you?"

She blinked and attempted to nod.

"Hmm…" he sank deep into thought. "I wonder what you don't know…"

Her left hand still held her handbag, while the right managed to inch slowly to the weapon inside the bag…

"But seeing as you know everything…"

Almost there, she could almost feel the cool metal beneath her fingers…

"I don't see why I should prolong…"

Almost, almost… yes! Her fingers curled around the metal object.

"Oh well-"

"Get away from me," she said sharply, cutting across the man's musing, "Or I'll pull the trigger. I mean it." The gun barrel was pressed firmly against his side.

"Ooh, what do we have here?" he chuckled. "A little girl like you wants to act all grown up with a toy! How funny is that?"

She gritted her teeth. "Let go of me, or I'll shoot!"

His eyes gleamed. "Fine. I'll play your game then, missy."

Surprisingly, he backed away. Lisa blinked in bemusement and clicked off the safety. Aiming the gun at him, she attempted to fumble for her keys in her bag for a while, but gave up. Deciding that stalling for time was the best solution, as she was absolutely certain that it was going to be difficult to get out of the situation, she decided to talk, praying that Amanda would arrive early and call the police. It was possible that he had tampered with the lock in the few seconds when she had been in the bathroom.

His knife was still in his hand. She glanced down at it before taking a deep breath and saying, "It's been ages. Why're you here?"

He raised his eyebrows and giggled. "Yes it's been a very, _very_ long time. Why are you pointing that thing at me?"

"Answer my question!" her hand shook slightly as she held up her weapon.

He seemed amused. "Okay… you could say that I'm, uh, destroying the roots."

"Roots?"

"You know, so that the cops won't find out."

A pit of dread formed in her stomach. "Find out what?"

His eyes narrowed. "Don't think I don't know that you'll rat, missy. I'm most adept at pointing out the ones who'll tell and the ones who won't. You'll tell eventually, won't you?"

She lowered the gun slightly. "Yes, I think so." she said quietly, her voice fairly steady, despite the half lie.

In spite of the overwhelming wave of terror sweeping over her, she thought she understood the reasoning behind the cornering. It was only logical that a criminal dispose of all possible witnesses before committing a big crime. Besides, she knew without a doubt that she would tell the police who he was if given the chance.

It didn't alleviate her fear though. So she sneered and spat out, "I hope you enjoy yourself killing people. Git."

"Oh, I will," he replied a vicious grin on his face.

"Go to hell!" she snapped as her face hardened. She glared at the offending man standing in front of her, willing him to be blown to pieces. "God damn it, you fool, get out! I'm not being _nice_ anymore, and I haven't seen you in years. I don't even know what-"

"Where's the card?" he asked suddenly.

She was thrown off balance. "Card?"

"You know, the Joker card you picked up from the ground."

"I disposed of it a long time ago," she snapped.

"Don't lie to me," he said, his black eyes flashing in annoyance. "Women never burn their letters."

"Well, that's a goddamn stereotype. And it wasn't a letter."

"It's no good lying to me, Lisa." he said mock seriously. "I'm right most of the time."

"Fine…"

Keeping her gun trained on him, she slowly walked over to a set of drawers next to the television, rummaged through the junk, and finally pulled out a shabby, battered, but still recognisable red Joker card.

"Ah…" he sighed. "All the familiar things… they bring out this – wave of nostalgia. You do know that the red Joker card is worth more than the black one in a game, don't you?"

"What do I care? You once said that you just liked the cards, not the games."

"Did I? Maybe I did." He laughed mockingly. "I liked that card."

"And I don't miss nor like you. Now get the hell out of my apartment." she said. Her voice cracked.

He stared at her for a moment before bursting into guffaws of laughter. "You-" he choked, "You just don't have the guts to shoot me, do you? You and the rest of the world. You see, missy, I believe that every person is capable of killing. I'm sure you know that."

Her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent.

"But what stops you from killing? What stops you from pulling that trigger eh?"

"Staying out of jail is an excellent incentive for most people," she said coldly.

"No, no, no…" he chuckled. "Every person has a – what do you call it – _brake_ to stop him or her from committing that final act. Everyone has a certain mental barrier to overcome before being able to kill. It's like a wall you need to climb, you know. Not an impossible obstacle to overcome."

"Very perceptive observation," she said dryly.

He waved his hand dismissively, still sniggering. "But you see, people like me have already climbed that wall. You haven't, I'm afraid."

"Oh, do you want me to?" she asked, injecting as much sarcasm into the statement as she could and attempting to step sideways but stumbling slightly.

"And you truly are… a curious one." he continued, disregarding her remark. "Asking so many questions! It's a real shame that you had to know too much." His voice took on a menacing tone.

"Know too…" a hidden instinct warned her of impending danger.

"I know that you heard everything that night."

Her face paled. "I already know that you know. Why do you still harp on it?"

"You see," he licked his lips, "I'm not talking about the hospital. I'm talking about the actual event. And I'm afraid, that your little plan of, um, stalling, won't work. It's quite pathetic actually. I know that you've never fired a gun in your life, so I'm safe, aren't I? Anyway, I'm running late for an appointment, and this will have to be quick."

Her fear came back in all its stomach-clenching glory, and she felt the bile rise in her throat. "What –?" she demanded hoarsely, her hands shaking badly. The card she was holding was almost going to drop; her fingers were trembling so much.

"Speaking of hospitals, did you read about the break-in at the hospital? Fantastic piece of work, wasn't it? They'll never figure out who did it. I had to obliterate all the records. And… look at what I found in your room!"

Then he held up a familiar piece of paper with her handwriting on it, and she felt her stomach drop.

"Can't let the cops trace me, I hope you know that. I'm pretty sure I know what this is, very nicely written. Too bad the writer won't be able to post it. An anonymous letter eh? Hilarious."

"Of course it's anonymous. And I haven't yet decided whether I should post it or not," she said, her throat dry.

"Enough talking. I have an appointment to keep. And anyway, you'll be meeting an old friend today."

"I don't-" she cut off her sentence when he reached into his pocket and took out a gleaming knife, which was gouged through the middle of a card up to the handle.

"This," he held it up so she could see what card it was, "is the friend. It's pleased to meet you."

The ace of spades.

Her grip went slack and the gun clattered to the ground as she finally lost her nerve. She opened her mouth and screamed.

The knife came hurtling toward her in a gleaming blur, slowly, slowly… She didn't even have time to think; all she could see was the knife, with its end forced through the middle of the card, the card which she had seen so long ago, coming for her. She couldn't run, she couldn't duck. All she could do was see the gleaming blur curving in an arc towards her, spelling her doom…

_Payback, _a nasty little voice at the back of her mind whispered, _for being a nosey twit._

Then she felt something icy cold crush its way past the protective cage of bone, so she looked down.

Only to see the ace of spades attached to the middle of her chest.

"No…" she whispered in shock. The Joker card fluttered toward the ground.

It hurt terribly. Felt like there was an icicle impaled onto her, sucking out the warmth from the fat-covered organ that was the heart.

Blood came oozing out of the wound, and her fingers clutched at the chest of drawers beside her before sinking slowly onto the ground. Her hands grasped at the knife in a futile attempt to pull out the deadly weapon, and her face drained of what little colour it had left. Her eyes sought his as she gasped, "Jack… you…"

"Don't call me Jack, missy," he said in a jovial tone with an edge of malice, "I shed the name that very night."

He had walked up to her and was now looking down on her pale face and grasping fingers with an air of amusement.

"You… idiot…"

"Oh, this is so fun," he said, chuckling. "People are the most interesting right before they die; they say all the things they don't say under – normal circumstances."

She coughed up blood. "I don't… believe… it, Jack." she whispered.

"What?" he snapped.

"I… don't…" she gasped.

"Oh, go on, let me hear your final confession," he said.

"You… truly are… your… father's…" her lips were white, and she seemed to be struggling to speak.

His smile faded slightly. "Don't talk about my father," he said nastily.

"Truly… are… your father's… son…" she said with great effort. More blood trailed down from her mouth, and she gasped like a fish out of water.

A singularly mirthless smile curled her bloodless lips and her eyelids fluttered…

Then something in those brown eyes disappeared, leaving them glassy and empty, and her fumbling hands became still. She stopped breathing. Her eyes were wide open, but they were blank, unseeing.

She was dead.

The Joker stared down at the body, not amused by her final words. How dare she mention his father? Nasty little girl, she knew her taunts, didn't she? Good thing she was deader than the deadest doorknob in the entire history of dead doorknobs – perhaps he could make her just a _little_ more dead... eh?

Lisa, in her final moments, had tried to find a taunt suitable to antagonise her killer. It was, her mind reasoned, the only payback she would ever be able to deliver. And it had worked. Her objective had been achieved. She had managed to bring up the only thing, perhaps, in the entire world, which would get under the skin of what was otherwise one of the most remorseless and cruel men in existence.

His father. Bringer of misery and deliverer of cruelty.

But, even as anger stirred in him, the Joker knew that he had done right in silencing her. She knew too much, had heard too much, had even considered contacting the police, and so had to die.

Whose ace was it in the end? The one impaled onto the dead girl's chest thrown by him, or the desperate taunt hurled by her at her murderer? Who cared?

Now, with the last obstacle out of the way, the world would see what he was capable of. The world would know his new name, feel the chaos he brought, and no one, not a single soul, would ever be able to connect him to that strange boy who used to sit on the bench by the road, shuffling cards.

The chaos would begin in Gotham City, and there was not a single person alive who knew who he truly was.

All records were erased, all people silenced. She had been the last one in the way, the last to _know_.

An evil little grin formed on his face, a grin which faded slightly as he looked down at the body. Her taunting smile was forever fixed onto her face, not forcibly cut in, but natural.

What did he feel? Remorse? Sadness? Regret?

No, no, none of these. Disgusting. Those weren't emotions he was capable of experiencing.

He felt jubilation together with anger, a strange combination. Perhaps it was her final taunt which annoyed him to no end. Even as she lay dying, the girl was still looking for a way to get back at her killer! How catty.

So to let out emotion, which he did on a regular basis, he laughed. Laughed even as Lisa's staring eyes watched him.

He doubled over, cackling, guffawing, tears streaming out from his eyes. The sheer humour of the whole situation! The joy! The pain! Oh, it was too comical for words…

Then he spotted the red Joker card lying next to her, a drop of blood tarnishing its white surface. He didn't bother picking it up; let the police find it and keep it as 'evidence'… if there was any left to find.

Snorting in mock disgust, he walked away and out of the apartment, carefully closing the door and considerably less cheerful than when he had walked in. As much as he wanted to linger, he couldn't. He had an appointment with Gambol, the one who had put a price on his head.

As he left, he noticed her little blonde friend walking toward the block, and hurried his pace, keen to leave the scene. So he wasn't there when she stepped out of the lift, didn't hear her knock the door, didn't see the frown which appeared on her face when no one answered, and certainly didn't watch her open the door and step in cautiously.

He didn't wait to watch.

So he didn't hear the piercing scream which echoed throughout the entire block as Amanda stared down in horror at her dead friend, with an ace of spades card impaled onto her chest with a knife. The distressed girl didn't notice the Joker card beside her, or the gun; all she saw was a very dead Lisa.

He didn't wait to witness the grand spectacle.

Or so he said to himself.

It was, after all, a henchman who threw in that small but powerful explosive through the open door, at the feet of a shocked Amanda.

The explosion was magnificent.

But of course, everything he said could not be taken as true – it proved quite a task to sort out the truth from the lies. A task made all the more difficult with the lack of witnesses or records.

"_What have we got?" the mayor asked._

"_Nothing," Gordon replied, "No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom – no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias… nothing."_

That's right, nothing.

Nothing to go on, nothing to link this man to any existing citizen of Gotham City. No one to ask, no one to interrogate, for he had killed them all.

He didn't even have to plan to kill them; he just did it, throwing in some extra security measures along the way. Lisa's plan of taking the key from the garden gnome was useless; he had already stolen and replaced it a long time ago. So it was confoundedly simple to just let himself inside one last time, using a duplicate key.

No planning was ever required. He just did things, erasing records and killing people.

Ooh, yes, killing people. He got a kick out of it, the sadist.

-:-

So we have our dead body. The owner of said body died, due to her insatiable curiosity and her absolutely rotten luck. Not to mention she wasn't the most stable and dependable person in the world.

Yet another person gone in the world, but as was expected, the orb wouldn't stop spinning. It would continue revolving around the Sun, unknowing and uncaring that another being had passed into the dark void which was death…. Although it was a great pity, one death was too insignificant to affect the giant sphere.

A while later, Commissioner Gordon realised belatedly that Lisa had tried to talk, and had died before she got her information out. A scrap of paper had been found at the scene, with incriminating words on it, but not enough to reveal important information. A real shame it was, that she had to be murdered before she could tell them what she could.

But then again, that was the whole point.

As for the Joker, he wasn't a brooding type. He enjoyed his life immensely, with few regrets. But occasionally, very rarely, he heard Lisa's final taunt resound in his ears, especially if there were people around who reminded him of his father…

He was his father's son? _("We're not intimidated by thugs." "You know, you remind me of my father. I _hated_ my father.") _Hated. Loathed. _Abhorred_...

No sentimental nonsense. He had buildings and people to blow up, and he'd better get cracking.

For after all, who else would do it on such a grand scale, without him around? Who else could introduce chaos like he did? **No one.**

He would kill, he would burn, and he would slaughter. For that was where he found purpose. His purpose. No one would stop him, no one would know him. He would remain an enigma. Even the Batman wouldn't know who or what his nemesis was.

As the Joker had told Lisa, everyone had a so-called brake within him/herself. The brake stopped the person from committing what was socially defined as 'atrocities', and most of the time it was fairly effective. It was fully functional on her, at any rate.

But not on him. To him, mass murder was fun. No more than a recreational sport, really.

Killing was making a choice. He had made it a long time ago.

_Fin_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So... it's over. Yeah. Looks a bit pathetic actually, when I think of all the time I spent on this. I'd planned to kill off the OC from the beginning, it was actually one of the first ideas I had when I thought of this story. Wrote this last chapter first. I don't know if the Joker was kept sufficiently in character, but I'm really grateful to Dr . Pepper . 19, my beta, for looking this whole story over. Please review :)**


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